


Epitaph for My Heart

by Slinkling



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode Tag, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slinkling/pseuds/Slinkling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from "Reunion" (SV 6.05)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epitaph for My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of my 69 Love Songs project, in which I wrote an unconnected series of fics whose titles came from the Magnetic Fields' album, "69 Love Songs." No, I did not actually succeed in writing 69 stories. This fic's song was #41.

_and life goes on and on and on  
and death goes on, world without end  
and you’re not my friend  
_\- The Magnetic Fields

***  
Clark shoves him back against the barn wall with such force that his head knocks against the wood.  Lex sees stars.

“Is this better?” Clark growls, one hand on Lex’s throat, the other roughly pulling at his shirt.  “This what you wanted?”

Lex doesn’t mean to answer, not wanting to give Clark the satisfaction.  But he can’t help himself.  _“Yes,”_ he hisses, as dangerously strong fingers jerk his belt open.

***

He shouldn’t have drunk so much.  He knows this.  He shouldn’t do a lot of things; this has become his refrain.  But he’d felt empty inside, and that emptiness needed filling.  

After coming home from the reunion, after changing out of his blood-spattered suit and sharing a sedate dinner with Lana, he’d wanted to get away from her so he could start drinking right away.  But she’d been concerned about him.  Also upset on her own behalf; nobody likes to see a violent death, even when the victim is only a drunken asshole.  Washed-up at twenty-eight, not that Alden had ever had much going for him besides his high-class pedigree.  And Lana is soft-hearted, with a fetish for anyone whose death falls out of a clear blue sky.  He couldn’t tell her that the guy’d had it coming for at least ten years.

He made love to her after dinner because it would make her feel better.  Or because it would make her feel like she’d made him feel better.  They were tender and loving, and he made her come with his fingers while he fucked her, and afterward she clung to him with tears in her eyes and said _I feel so connected to you._  Lex had been so thoroughly on autopilot that he didn’t even have the urge to laugh.  

That came later, once he’d made it to the library and broken out the scotch.

***

Still reeling and off-balance, he tears at the buttons of Clark’s flannel shirt and starts rucking up the t-shirt underneath, desperate to bare that golden skin, run his hands along that smoothly muscled stomach.  It’s been too long; Clark has always been Lex’s most stubborn addiction, and he’s jonesing for a fix.  But Clark doesn’t care what Lex wants.  He ignores Lex’s hands, presses him into the wall and rips the button off his pants, mangling the zipper as he tears it open with no finesse whatsoever.

“Clark,” Lex gasps, but he’s cut off by a punishing kiss that will leave him with swollen lips.  He sucks on Clark’s tongue like he wants to swallow it.  Clark tugs Lex’s pants and boxers down past his knees, then starts working on his own jeans, where his erection strains against his fly.

“Shut up,” he commands when he pulls his mouth away.  “Just don’t say anything.”

This is absolutely fine by Lex.

***

He’d been on his fourth drink when his father stopped by.

“Nothing a little dry-cleaning won’t cure,” he bantered, and he’d been tipsy enough that he enjoyed his own barbed wit.  But four tumblers of scotch splashed in him like a paltry half-gallon of gas in an otherwise empty tank.  He couldn’t drink fast enough to fill the vacancy inside, as thoughts of Duncan and Oliver and the boy he had once been rushed in to occupy the space.  He needed something stronger, larger, more potent.

The boy he’d once been.  Duncan had seen only the best in him: the wounded idealist, which was all Lex had wanted him to see.  Until one day his other side erupted to the surface, and Duncan died.  He had kept that other side in such tight check for years after that, and finally he’d made another friend, one who also saw the best in him.  For a while.  Then the friendship turned into something else, and then the friendship died, and now the best in him was a thin veneer to please Lana while much darker aspects roiled and churned underneath.  

A fifth and then sixth drink, and emptier still.  Lex was running on fumes as he staggered towards his garage and grabbed the nearest set of keys.

***

No preamble and no more talking: Clark hauls him bodily to the end of the couch and flops him over the side, pants still around his ankles, ass in the air.  The scratchy upholstery chafes against his skin, but Lex doesn’t care.  He fumbles in the cushions for where Clark still keeps a tube of lube, thank god, and passes it back without a word, sucking in a startled breath when one thick, slicked finger jabs into him sooner than expected.

“You want me to make you moan?” Clark asks, leaning over him, his voice rumbling and cruel.  “To hurt you?  You have no idea.”

Lex doesn’t answer, just feels his eyes roll back in his head as a second finger joins the first.  Clark stretches him open quickly and carelessly, and he chokes back a whimper.  The sudden ache is a lifeline, something he can cling to.

***

When he arrived at the Kent farm after a reckless, weaving drive, Clark was exactly where Lex hoped he’d be: in his loft, alone, brooding.  Lex hadn’t been in the barn for several months, and the familiar smells – a mixture of horses and hay and sawdust and diesel from the tractor – washed over him.  It used to be that those smells would tug at his underfed heart; now they only set loose a wave of nostalgia that Lex tamped down easily.

He was halfway up the stairs when Clark appeared at the top landing, glowering.  “What are you doing here?”

“No one ever says hello anymore,” Lex commented, continuing his slow ascent.

Clark looked him over.  “You’re drunk,” he sneered.

“And you’re sanctimonious,” Lex tossed back.  “And tomorrow, I’ll be sober.”  He made it to within two steps of Clark before a hand on his chest kept him from going any further.  The contact made his skin prickle.

“What do you want, Lex?  We’re not friends anymore, remember?”

“Were we ever friends, Clark?”

Clark furrowed his brow.  “I thought so.”

“So did I.  But it doesn’t really seem to have stuck, now, does it?”  He sidestepped Clark’s outstretched hand and veered past him up into the loft.  Clark didn’t try to stop him.  He needed an anchor of some kind; his head swam, while his stomach felt hollow.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

***

He’s panting by the time Clark withdraws his fingers and drapes himself over his body, cock flattened in the crack of Lex’s ass.  Clark grinds into him, his hands closing over Lex’s wrists like manacles.   “You want honesty, Lex?” he breathes.  “I could tear you apart right now.  Don’t think I couldn’t.”

“Just fuck me,” Lex begs, his cock throbbing.  “Jesus, please.  Fuck, Clark, now.”  Clark holds him down with one hand on his back as he positions the head of his cock at Lex’s hole.  The blunt push is unrestrained; with one brisk thrust he is buried in Lex to the hilt, and Lex screams.

Clark stills.

After a shattering pause, Lex feels tentative fingers brush his shoulder.  “Lex?”  Clark sounds uncertain, and Lex grimaces against the couch cushion.

He takes a shivering breath.  “Do it,” he orders.  “Fuck me.  Now.”

***

“Lana told me something interesting.”  Lex wandered aimlessly around the loft, not steady enough on his feet to stand still with any confidence.  “She said she couldn’t get you to sleep with her after your miraculous resurrection last year.  I thought it might be that you just weren’t that way inclined.  For all that you claimed to be in love with her.”  He shot a look in Clark’s direction and was not at all surprised to see him with his arms folded, fuming.  “But she’s convinced you were attracted to her.  It’s just that every time things would start to heat up, you’d suddenly panic about hurting her.  Like you were afraid she might break.”

Clark glared at him, his eyes seeming to glow.

“You don’t know what you were missing, Clark.  She’s a goddess.  An animal.”  All exaggerations, but totally worth it for the way Clark smoldered.  “She fucks like she’s been waiting for it all her life.  But then, I guess she has.”

Suddenly Clark was right there, gripping Lex’s arm with a grasp that could raise a welt.  “What do you want, Lex?” he asked again, his voice low and menacing.

Sheer determination kept Lex from flinching.  Instead he stared Clark down, savoring his victory.  Clark scowled back at him until Lex glanced at his arm; Clark instantly let go with a small nervous gasp.  

“I notice you’re never so particular about hurting me,” he murmured silkily.

***

Clark obliges, ramming into him with abandon, all hesitance gone.  Iron hands clutch his hips as Clark fills him up again and again.  Lex hangs on to the couch for dear life and breathes his silent thanks as Clark drives all thoughts out of his head.  

When Clark changes angles and starts hitting his prostate on every thrust, Lex can’t stay silent anymore.  He gasps, cries out; tears come to his eyes and he can’t hold them back.  He doesn’t even care.  It’s nothing but a physical response to stimuli.  Clark’s rhythm speeds up and Lex feels his wits scattering, breaking free.  He reaches down for his cock and starts stroking roughly.  Bodily sensation consumes him.  As he nears orgasm there is no room in him for anything else.

He comes at last with a wrenching sob, shooting all over his shirt and his hand and Clark’s beat-up couch.  Clark follows a minute or so later, shuddering into Lex’s limp body, his hands pressing bone-deep bruises on Lex’s hips.  Even with Lex’s accelerated healing, it will be several days before the marks fade.

***

“In fact, I’d say you enjoy it.”  He tilted his face to one side and leered up at Clark.  

Clark straightened up and stiffened.  “Is that what you think?”

Lex swayed.  “Come on, Clark, we both know it.  You get off on making me moan.  Leaving your marks on me.  Or at least, you used to.”

“Go home, Lex.”  Clark’s tone was dismissive, even scornful.  But Lex thought he saw an opening.

“What’s the matter?  Don’t tell me I’ve offended your delicate sensibilities.  Lana may think you’re a puritan, but I know better.”  He stepped closer, until only inches separated them.  Clark narrowed his eyes at him, immovable as stone.  “Or are you too holy to fuck these days?”

Clark shook his head.  “Maybe I’m just too holy to fuck _you_.”

“That’s a shame.”  He leaned in until he could feel the heat Clark gave off.  “Because you know I won’t break.”  With a swift move, he fell upon Clark, grabbing his ass and latching his mouth onto Clark’s neck.  Clark tried to back away, but Lex held on and ground himself against Clark’s body, sucking and biting at the sensitive spot below his ear, until Clark pried him off forcefully enough to make him stagger backward.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Every word dripped with contempt.  But Clark’s face was flushed, his nostrils flaring, and Lex had felt a stirring of interest in his groin.

He smiled.  “I’m just looking for an honest reaction.”

For a few seconds they stared at each other.  Lex had enough time to worry that he was about to get beat up.

And then Clark came at him like a head-on collision.

***

Lex still hasn’t caught his breath when Clark pulls out and moves away from him.  He stays where he is for a while, listening as Clark cleans himself off and then pulls his underwear and jeans back on.  He feels worn-out and drained, but the gaping void inside from earlier seems to have gone.  Or else that sensation has simply been transferred to his ass, where it belonged in the first place, he thinks tiredly.  

At last he pushes himself up to standing.  He gets dressed as best he can; his shirt, which never came off, is splattered with come and rumpled beyond repair, and the only thing keeping his pants together is his belt.  This, then, is the second outfit that’s gotten ruined today.  At least this one got a good ride before it died.

When he’s as assembled as he’s going to get, he heads for the stairs without a backward glance.  He hears Clark call his name, but he doesn’t respond, just keeps walking.  Exertion has sobered him up a bit, as it tends to do, and the cool air on his face as he exits the barn is refreshing.  Clark calls after him once more. Though he has to sit down gingerly, he sighs with satisfaction as he gets into his car.  Poor Clark.  So self-righteous and so strong, and Lex can still manipulate him like putty.

He turns his key in the ignition, and the engine purrs to life.


End file.
